


A Meeting in Meiringen

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield goes into a bar and meets James Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meeting in Meiringen

Thorin Oakenshield emerged from the tunnel and looked around.  He could see he was in the middle of a range of mountains, but he didn’t recognise any of them.  He had been right to suspect Gandalf had something to do with the tunnel entrance.  He had been fairly sure he hadn’t seen that particular entrance before and now he was at the other end he was convinced of it.  Nevertheless, now he was here, wherever here was, he might as well explore.

The mountains were partially covered in snow, and Thorin could see a number of waterfalls, fed by the melting snow.  The terrain looked interesting, but not one he would choose to cross without companions.  And, since the other dwarves were still in Erebor, Thorin turned and headed towards the village.

It was a village of men, but the few he passed seemed unconcerned by his presence.  Thorin couldn’t understand their greeting, but he smiled and nodded and they seemed satisfied.  He suspected they were accustomed to visitors.

Whilst he felt the locals were welcoming, the weather was not.  What had been a light drizzle when he arrived had increased to become a steady downpour.  Therefore, when Thorin spotted a bar he turned into it.  He felt in the pocket of his jerkin and found some coins, which he hadn’t remembered being there in the morning.  No doubt more of Gandalf’s magic.

He sat down at a table and a maid came to take his order.  She soon returned with the beer and as he began to drink, the man on the next table raised his glass to him. 

Thorin nodded in reply and the man clearly took this as an invitation to speak.  “You will not object to the company of a fellow stranger?” he enquired.

Thorin shook his head.  He would have preferred to be left in peace, but he was sufficiently well versed in the ways of men to know such an introduction meant he would need to endure the man’s company unless he stood up and made his displeasure known.  And since such action would undoubtedly result in him being forced to leave the bar, and it was still raining, and the beer was good, he resigned himself to the situation.

“My name is Colonel James Moriarty,” the man began.  “And I have come here to find further evidence in the defence of the memory of my brother.  He met his death this time last year.  You may have heard about it?”

Thorin shook his head.  “I am not from these parts,” he said.  He looked more closely at the colonel.  There was no sign of the grief he would have expected on the anniversary of a brother’s death.  He said nothing more, preferring to see what else Moriarty had to say.

“My brother was a genius, but there are those who accuse him of crimes of which he was never guilty.  He was killed by his enemy, a Mr Sherlock Holmes.”  Moriarty paused, presumably to see the reaction to this news.

Thorin looked steadily back.  “I am sorry to hear that.”

“My brother’s health had been suffering, for he had found Holmes’ slanderous accusations hard to bear.  He had decided to come to Switzerland to aid his recovery, with the intention of taking long walks in the pure air.  It appears that on one of these walks he came across the man who deemed himself my brother’s adversary.  Holmes attacked my brother, who, weakened by his illness, was unable to resist and pushed him over a waterfall.”

Thorin listened to the story, and continued to be surprised at the lack of emotion Moriarty was showing.  He would have understood if there had been anger, rather than sorrow; a sibling killed would justify that.  But Moriarty’s words and his general presence seemed far more calculating than emotional.

“What happened to this Holmes?” Thorin asked.

“He overreached in the act of pushing my brother and fell too.”

Thorin felt the man appraising him, before Moriarty continued.  “I was planning to walk to the Reichenbach Falls this afternoon, to see the spot where my brother died.  Perhaps you would like to accompany me?”

A small smile crept across Thorin’s lips.  “Unfortunately, I have to get back from whence I came.  And I would counsel you, sir, not to consider a re-enactment with another unsuspecting stranger.  Your brother, no doubt, had no intention of falling when he pushed the unfortunate Mr Holmes over the waterfall …”

At this Moriarty stood up.  “How dare you?” he screamed.

Thorin looked round the bar, noting everyone had turned to look at the furious colonel.  “In fact, it would no doubt be better if you were to perpetuate your lies elsewhere.”

Moriarty stormed out.

Thorin stood up, took out a handful of coins and paid for his beer.  “Thank you,” he said, “I have had an interesting visit, but I fear I must go home.  Could you remind me of the name of this village?”

“Meiringen, sir.”

“Thank you.”  Thorin was pleased to see the rain had ceased and he began his way back to the tunnel’s entrance.  Once he was back he would remember to ask Gandalf about what led up to the events at the Reichenbach Falls, for somehow he knew the wizard would have a tale or two to tell.

 


End file.
